


all and sundry fly towards that place whose reward is infernal

by notearchiver



Category: Night Sun Tarot Deck, Tarot (Divination Cards)
Genre: Crueltide, Fisting, Gang Rape, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Object Insertion, Pseudo-medieval era, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9014182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notearchiver/pseuds/notearchiver
Summary: Sir Anselm of Briwere has returned from Jerusalem with fame and fortune, ballads sung of the Knight of Wands with ladies falling at his feet, but all he wants is his page Nicholas to fuck him. When Reynold of Hovedon, in robes embroidered with his pentacle sigil, finds them, punishment ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



> To shadow_lover, whose Crueltide comment caught my attention and whose picture of the Page of Swords held it. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> The title is from _Pax in nomine domini _by Marcabru, a troubador who sang about the crusades.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> __For reference, here are images of the cards used:_[Page of Swords](http://66.media.tumblr.com/37213c643f90c69047b0680698aa9390/tumblr_odfc4q2o5m1ucqfluo3_1280.jpg), [Knight of Wands](http://66.media.tumblr.com/a0f0327a20a70fbb96986b1488a787cb/tumblr_odfc4q2o5m1ucqfluo1_1280.jpg), [Three of Pentacles](http://66.media.tumblr.com/1deff436f6c624f0bb2fc0e82c545d5c/tumblr_odfc4q2o5m1ucqfluo2_1280.jpg)_  
> 

Nicholas entered the quarters allotted to him as a page serving Sir Anselm of Briwere to find his master lying naked on the straw pallet, legs splayed outwards and a finger circling the rim of his hole.

Dropping his cloak, Nicholas watched as Anselm's thin finger breached the ring of muscle, digit scarred from years of fighting disappearing bit by bit.

"I thought you wouldn't be back from Jerusalem until the end of the week, master," Nicholas said, nevertheless beginning to undo the laces on his breeches. "I would have readied your quarters if I had known you would—"

Anselm held up his free hand to stop his page from rambling. "No need to fret, Nicholas. The weather in France was better than expected and the caravan moved swiftly. It is of no consequence that my quarters are dark. I find—" he added another finger and exhaled sharply. "I find that I am quite eager to spend some time in your quarters instead." He began to piston his fingers in and out, hips lifting to better fuck himself.

Even from five feet away, Nicholas could see the pull of flesh around his hole indicating that the knight has not even stopped in his quarters for oil, instead fucking himself with the meager lubricant offered by his spit. The pink skin darkened with each dry thrust of the fingers. Given Anselm's penchant for pain, the chafing doubtlessly only added to deep flush of Anselm's cock where it skittered across his abdominal muscles.

"Off with your clothes, Nicholas," Anselm ordered as he removed his pulled his fingers out, leaving just the tips in to tease has his twitching hole. "Or are you not going to fuck your master?"

Nicholas's cock pushed against the half-undone laces, and he hurried to rid himself of his clothes, almost tripping over his boots in the rush to get to Anselm. Anselm laughed, voice low and gravelly like the dust kicked up by horses used to patrol the Holy Land, and Nicholas bit Anselm's inner thigh in retaliation, knowing the stubble on his cheek would rub harshly against his master's hard cock.

"I asked you to fuck me, not add to the saddle sore!" Anselm said, punctuating his words with a tug on Nicholas' hair.

Nicholas pulled back to study the bite mark, deeming the purpling indentations sufficient evidence of his work.

"Saddle sore, my Lord?" Nicholas quipped, flicking Anselm's balls with his index finger. Anselm's thighs jolted under his hands, and the precome dribbling from Anselm's cock began to pool. "And I thought your cock was hard and red from anticipation of a good fucking. Not," Nicholas scraped his teeth against the head of Anselm's cock, licking the resulting precome as it emerged from the slit, "your stallion." He retreated and pushed Anselm's thighs wider apart. The man's hole was still red from the earlier ministrations and obviously sensitive to the cool air brushing across it. "I don't think you're quite loose enough for the beast anyways."

Nicholas enjoyed watching the flush of embarrassment and indignation that spread across Anselm's face at the words, and he leaned down to kiss his master. He forced Anselm's mouth open, chasing the sweet taste of honey and slight bitterness of aged cheese. His cock, previously forgotten in the joy of teasing Anselm, rubbed against his lover's, the two pulsing against each other.

"Nicholas," Anselm said. "Please, just fuck me. It has been too long."

Nicholas sat back on Anselm's thighs. "You mean you did not find a lady on your travels to sate you?"

Anselm shook his head. "Did I not say I would preserve myself for you? If you doubt me so easily perhaps I should leave." He made as if to sit up, but Nicholas quickly pushed him down, using all his leverage against the muscled frame.

"I never doubt you," Nicholas said. "It is only my insecurities speaking." Anselm ran a hand down Nicholas' lithe back, pulling his page until Nicholas could feel his cock rest against Anselm's fluttering hole.

"Then silence them."

Nicholas did not make the mistake of delaying longer to ask if Anselm wanted more stretching. He thrust in, ignoring Anselm's responding grunt, and began to stroke Anselm's cock in time with his thrusts.

The drag of his cock inside the tight heat of Anselm was almost too much for Nicholas, but he resolved to hold on. It had been over a year since he had last seen his master, over a year since he had fucked anything but his hand, and he would make this last.

And it would have lasted if the door to his quarters hadn't banged open, and Reynold of Hovedon, Sir Anselm's patron, had not entered, green robes embroidered with the his pentacle sigil crest swirling around him.

Nicholas only glimpsed Anselm's eyes widen, and not in pleasure, before he was torn from his master by two guards.

"It would be one matter if you were taking your page, Anselm," Reynold said, "but to let him defile you?" Nicholas, held by two guards, watched helplessly as Reynold ground down on Anselm's cock with his boot. "That is something we must fix."

Focused as he was on his master, Nicholas did not see Reynold turn until it was too late to brace himself for the boot connecting with the head of his cock. Nor, in the seconds that followed, could he ready himself for the hands tightening around his neck until his vision went black, Anselm only a wavering image in his mind.

* * *

Nicholas awoke to the sight of dirt. His face was smashed into the ground, and though his head was turned to the side, his hair obscured part of the view. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, and when he tugged, he found that the rope around his wrists was somehow attached to his ankles. His ankles were also immobilized, and trying to tilt one, the other did as well. The nausea dwelling in his stomach began to grow.

If what he was sensing was correct, then he was in trouble. Years ago Adhemar of Puy had brought a Saracen as a gift for Reynold when courting soldiers for the crusade to the Holy Land. Nicholas had almost spilled the wine he was serving Anselm when he saw the boy kneeling in the center of the great hall.

The Saracen had been naked, his hands bound behind his back, a bar spreading his legs apart and the rope tying his wrists attached to his ankles. When the Saracen had pulled on the rope, his legs had jerked farther apart.

Nicholas had been relieved when Anselm had sent him back to his quarters, saying he did not need anything for the remainder of the evening. It was plain enough by the position the Saracen boy was in and the streaks between his thighs what the entertainment would be that night.

Six months later, Anselm had saddled his stallion, a blazing torch in one hand and crucifix in the other, and started off to Jerusalem. The knight had never said Reynold had ordered him to go with Adhemar to the Holy Land, but Nicholas remembered Reynold's eyes staring greedily at the Saracen boy.

Anselm had not brought back Saracens, only valuable metals and jewels and fame and the promise of Heaven. Nicholas had thought that was enough for Reynold, but now, trapped by ropes and a metal rod, he was not so sure of his conclusion.

"He's awake, my Lord," someone said from Nicholas' right. There was a scuffle, and then the hair was pulled back from his eyes.

His world was sideways, but Nicholas could see Reynold sitting in his throne-like chair, hand toying with a silver chalice Anselm had brought back from Jerusalem. Next to him was Anselm. The knight was no longer naked. Instead, he was richly attired in deep purple robes with gold rings glinting on his fingers. Nicholas did not make the mistake of assuming his master was willingly sitting there.

Anselm's hands were clutching the arms of his chair, and his back was too straight, jaw too stiff. Every few seconds the man's eyes darted to the side to watch Reynold before landing back on Nicholas.

He was just as trapped as Nicholas was.

Nicholas was jolted back to the reality of his situation when Reynold started talking.

"My young Nicholas," Reynold said, "such liberties you were taking with your master. I cannot allow that to happen." He picked up a square of cheese and popped it in his mouth. "At first I was inclined to believe that my Knight of Wands was begging you to fuck him, but then I took a closer look, and what did I find in your clothing but an interesting trinket." He held up a flashing piece of silver on a chain, and Nicholas ground his teeth together. Anselm had given it to him before he left for Jerusalem. It was a small silver plate with his name inscribed on it. "To think that you had stolen a piece of Saracen witchcraft from my treasury and used it to ensnare Anselm," Reynold continued. "If I had not found it my dearest knight might be in your place with your cold, dead cock up his ass waiting for my men to fuck him."

Nicholas closed his eyes for a second, opened them, and focused on exhaling. Reynold was just toying with them. He knew the reality, but Anselm's fame and fortune meant he could not punish the man. The knight's successes in the Holy Land were sung in ballads across the Christian empire; he was untouchable.

Nicholas, however, was very touchable.

And in this case, very fuckable.

He bit back a laugh as Reynold began to speak again. "Our Anselm here—" he stroked Anselm's clenched fist, "as he is obviously both yours and mine—has convinced me to be merciful. Rather than kill you, you will merely wish to be dead. And then Anselm will have you to fuck as he wishes once more. Perhaps if you please the guards enough, your hole won't be so ruined as to cause Anselm to dispose of you."

The guards around Nicholas laughed, but he ignored them. He looked only at Anselm who continued to sit rigidly, robe barely moving with each breath. He would do this for Anselm. He would survive this for his master.

Nicholas didn't have to wait long to know what he would survive.

"Guards, you may do with him as you will. Make it enjoyable, will you? Not like that Saracen slave Adhemar brought us."

Nicholas vowed to keep his eyes on Anselm, but it was hard to do when two hands grabbed his head and forced his mouth open. A cock bobbed in and out of Nicholas' vision, the purpled head grotesque in the shadowed light, before it thrust forward, slapping at his cheek. Once, twice, three times it slapped his cheeks, smearing hot precome on his face, before a fat hand guided the head of the cock into his mouth.

The guard's cock lay heavy on his tongue, and Nicholas wished he could bite it off, but the fingers forcing his jaw open prevented any movement on his end. Instead he could only blink away tears and swallow bile as the cock invaded his mouth, the head brushing against his soft palate and scraping the back of his throat before pulling out again.

The teasing thrusts continued until another guard yelled, "Get on with it, Toclive!"

The guard, Toclive, began to move rapidly. Each thrust pushed the cock further down Nicholas' throat until at last the guard pulled out. Between the tears leaking from his eyes, Nicholas could see a strand of white stretching between his lips and the softening cock. One of the fast fingers flicked the remaining come onto his nose before the guard left his vision.

But Nicholas didn't have time situate where he was in regards to Anselm, the guard having pushed him to the side, because cold hands were pulling open his ass and another guard was already taking Toclive's spot.

The newest cock in Nicholas' mouth didn't distract him from the sudden spike of pain from fingers being shoved up his ass. They were nothing like Anselm's thin digits and slow gentle strokes. It felt like each finger was as thick as a cock, like the three fingers in him were tearing him open.

"Add another, Jack," someone said. There was a swooping whistle, then, "Give the whore what he needs. Three isn't near enough."

For the first time, Nicholas screamed. The fourth finger was agony and he felt something snap. It was not the tearing of flesh from fingernails scraping his insides, but the pull of a muscle that had too much. He screamed and screamed, not hearing the guards laugh at the blood running from his ass, or the encouragement to add a fifth finger.

It was only a cycle of cold and hot and scraping and come coating his face until Anselm's voice cut through the pain.

"My Lord, is this not enough?"

There was still a cock in his mouth, what felt like a fist in his ass, and hands pulling on his cock, but it was easy to hear Reynold's reply.

"We have barely started, Anselm. We are not yet on the main event."

There was a shaky laugh, and Nicholas could imagine Anselm trying to collect himself to continue playing the game.

"I would appreciate having a live body left to fuck, my Lord. If the page loses too much more blood, I fear I will only have a corpse, and how will a corpse warm my cock?"

The guard using his mouth pulled back, adding his come to the fluid staining Nicholas' face, but Nicholas didn't mind. He could see Anselm now even as he was rocked back and forth by the fist in his ass.

At some point Anselm had crumpled in on himself. He was twisting his robes in his hands and his face was streaked tears, the liquid glistening like the come on Nicholas' face.

Nicholas' resolve only strengthened. He would survive to take care of his Anselm. His Anselm would need him.

Next to Anselm, Reynold stood and dusted bits of cheese from his robes. "Guards, where's a piece of wood? It's not like his hole is much use to you now. It's too loose to even hold a cock long enough to come." He beckoned to Anselm. "Follow me, knight. I think you will enjoy seeing this."

The hand in Nicholas' ass pulled back and Nicholas moaned weakly as the knuckles caught on his rim. He closed his eyes as the hand continued to rock in and out, no longer caring that he couldn't see Reynold and Anselm's progress across the floor. The sensation was too much.

"Your spot, Toclive."

At some point Reynold and Anselm must have walked past him to stand behind his ass, because when Nicholas opened his eyes there was no one in front of him, just the dusty boots of guardsmen lining the wall.

A final jerk, and Nicholas felt the hand pop free. He closed his eyes again. It was no use keeping them open when he couldn't see Anselm.

"The wood, Poncey," Reynold ordered. There was a shuffle, and then, "Very nice, good, solid piece. Thicker than a hand. What do you think, Anselm?"

"It will do quite nicely, my Lord." Anselm sounded as if he was being strangled.

Nicholas flopped to the floor, no strength left, as his bonds were abruptly severed, but there was no respite. Mere seconds later a hand pulled his hips up. Then everything was pain once more as his ass was reamed open. In the haze of pain, Nicholas could only think _wood, wood, wood_.

The scrape was interminable. The pain never lessened, only became more acute in certain places as the wood splintered and drove into him.

And it stopped.

"Many thanks for letting us sample your young page, Anselm. You may take him now."

And, eyes still closed, Nicholas felt himself being picked up. The movement was gentle, and the whiff of cheese told him it must be Anselm whose arms he was in. He tried to relax, but with the wood still shoved up his ass made it hard to loosen his muscles. Each jolt drove the splinters further in.

The light changed, signaling they had left the hall, and Nicholas allowed himself to whimper freely.

"Shhh," Anselm murmured. "I've got you. I've got you."

The jostling continued, but it was quieter now and the smell of come and blood was somehow less overwhelming.

Nicholas was just drifting off when he heard Anselm say, "I've sent my squire to prepare the horses and a page to Guillaume of Coucy. I saved his life and battle and he will gladly house us, as he is none too fond of Reynold. We leave before dawn."


End file.
